Fandom Mash
by computer geek
Summary: Bunch of one-shots that include Harry Potter, Sherlock, The Hunger Games, Supernatural, Doctor Who and Percy Jackson. May include some Destiel... and Johnlock... Er, and Peeniss, 11/River and Percabeth. Maybe Fremione ;-;
1. Harry Potter's meltdown

**Hey guys!**

**It's been awhile, I know. Last post was sometime May 2012, I believe. Ah well. I hope you'll forgive me! **

**Also, I don't know if any of you have noticed, but I've deleted all of my old stories. *sigh* I sort of regret it... some of those stories had more than 600 reviews! :c**

**Anywho. I've decided to return to writing. However, there's going to be some differences.  
1) They're multi-fandom stories: Harry Potter, Sherlock, The Hunger Games, Supernatural, Doctor Who and Percy Jackson will all somehow be mentioned at times.  
2) I'll only be writing one-shots. I'm not really the greatest at continuously updating stories, let alone writing them with a good, flowing storyline.  
3) I won't be deleting my stories.**

**Enough diddly-daddle. Here we go!**

* * *

_'Harry, you really ought to talk about it.'_

The simple sentence had set him off. He had immediately fled from the boy's dormitory, not even bothering to apologise to Neville as Harry knocked him over, and sprinted. He tore across the Gryffindor Common Room, blinking away images of Hermione and Ron's concerned faces. He sped through corridors, chest heaving and throat closing up.

How was he meant to _talk_ about Siriu- _it _-, when just _thinking _about it made his heart ache with pain?

_'You need to accept it. You need to move on.'_

He choked down another sob as he fled past the Transfiguration classroom. How!? How was he meant to _accept _it, let alone _move on_!?

Harry burst through the front doors, nearly tripping over his own feet. He paused and stared straight back at those who stared at his blotchy cheeks and foggy glasses. Time seemed to move slowly as flashes of memories threatened to appear. _A blinding light, Bellatrix ugly cackle, Remus holding him tightly, Harry screaming for Sirius to come back… _

It was as though he had no control of his feet as they took off again, leading him to an unknown place. Nobody dared to stop him, not even when he disappeared into Hogsmeade.

He didn't stop running until he tripped, rolling dozens of times in the dead grass, and finally stopping when he managed to crash into an old, crumbly building. Harry sniffled, letting the pain – the physical and emotional pain – sink into his poor, wrecked body.

It took him awhile before Harry finally sat up and leaned against the building. He brought his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms tightly around himself and shivered. The weather wasn't cold – it was the middle of summer – but he was freezing. All the time. He wore a lot of scarves, thick gloves and socks, and even wore Ron's jumpers, but he could never feel warmth. He hadn't for a long time now…

Not since Sirius' death.

This time, Harry couldn't choke down the strangled whine. It escaped his parched lips, ringing loudly through the quiet town. His shoulders slumped, his head dropped, and he sobbed. He let go of his barricades, took off his glasses and cried; a nice, good, _real _cry. Tears clung to his eyelashes, head spinning in disbelief.

And he cried for quite some time, letting the weeks of endless pain escape from him via tears. Eventually, the loud, body-wracking sobs faded to a small whimper, before finally drifting into the sniffles.

"Hey, hey kid…"

Harry glanced up and sniffed, squinting without his glasses on. He placed a hand on his head, attempting to ignore the dull thud pounding harshly against his skull. "Wha…"

"Keep the chick-flick stuff to a minimum, alright?" There was a pause as Harry finally put his glasses back on. A tall man with large green eyes stared down at him. "We didn't come all this way to listen to you bitch."

* * *

**Short, I know. But enough to get me started. Please leave your thoughts in a review! **


	2. John Watson vs Milk

**Thank you to koryandrs for reviewing!**

* * *

"I'm bored."

John Watson sighed and closed his eyes, mentally praying to God to give him strength. He was tired, he just wanted to sit and relax today, but Sherlock – of course – just had to be bored.

"We're out of milk."

John slowly opened his eyes and noticed Sherlock staring at him expectantly. He held in a sigh and stood up, smoothing his plaided jumper. "I'll go get us some, then."

* * *

He walked slowly down the corridor, brow furrowed as he looked around for the milk. _Milk again._

They always seemed to need milk. No matter how much he would buy – they would need more the next day. Sometimes he wondered about where the hell the milk ended up.

A small redheaded boy ran past him, yelling to his mother about "how unfair it was that Ginny gets chocolate and he doesn't".

John rubbed his temples, let out a long breath, and opened the fridge before him. A blast of cool air hit him harshly and a shot of pain travelled to his elbow as he gripped the freezing carton.

Two heavily accented voices made his ear twitch.

"_Are you serious? This shit won't last at all!" _

"_I know, Dean. But we've still got enough salt in the trunk for two days." _

It was an odd conversation, he didn't mean to snoop… but yet, John continued to walk silently up the corridor, watching the two strange men argue. One was an absolute giant – maybe even taller than Sherlock – and had long, brown hair. John couldn't see his face, as the man was facing the one named 'Dean' (maybe his brother?), who looked tiny compared to him, though was still about a head taller than John.

The smaller one, Dean, opened his mouth to snap some sort of reply, only to suddenly stop. John tensed. He wasn't sure why he was so cautious, maybe because of all the cases he and Sherlock have had to deal with, and as emerald eyes met his, John could've sworn he would be paler than Sherlock himself.

"Can I help you?"

The tall man turned around and looked at John curiously. He quickly wracked his brain for an excuse for spying, "I need salt."

The two moved out of the road, and John felt the back of his head being pierced with their harsh stares. He heard a voice being cleared and the tall one spoke, "Do you know where we can find a decent bakery? Dean here has been nagging for some pie since we arrived."

John turned around and offered a smile, the edges of his eyes crinkling and nose wrinkling. "Sure," he replied. "It's just down the road. I could walk you there?"

The tall one smiled back, while Dean continued his glassy stare. "That'd be great, thanks. I'm Sam, by the way."

* * *

The three walked in an awkward silence, Sam offering smiles and Dean staring at John suspiciously. The silence was shattered, however, when a man with long, thin legs and a bright bowtie crashed straight into John, knocking him and the milk carton onto the road.

"S-Sorry!"

Sam and Dean quickly pulled John back onto the sidewalk, Dean instantly asking if he was okay, John frowning as he realised the milk was spilled everywhere.

And now, he was going to have to return to the store. Again. Honestly, he was getting sick of that place.

Next time, Sherlock could buy the milk.

"It's fine…"


End file.
